Mount Kilimanjaro Loop: An Easter Feast of Mud, Rain and African Terrain

Let’s take a week, circumnavigate Mount Kilimanjaro, attend an Easter baptism feast in a Chagga Village, ride into the Masai Steppe, turn back up toward Lushoto in the Usambara Mountains, and drop back down to the Indian Ocean at Pangani before slogging through the dust and mud south of Sadaani National Park on the way back to Dar es Salaam. There are four bikers: Ajax (KTM 450), Mr. Bean (KTM 450), Finnito (CRF 450) and me (XR 400). Its 2 days to the baptism, so let’s get started.

Finnito and I trailer the bikes from Dar to a Sango Village near Moshi on Thursday, meet our hosts, Babu and Bibi ABC, unload, set up the tents and proceed to drink beer in homage to the beastly 19,000 foot volcano at whose feet we sit. It starts to rain, and the rich soil turns to a dark brown paste. It’s just a glimpse of what’s to come. Night falls, Ajax and Bean arrive on the late flight and all manner of insects emerge from the soil, spreading their wings and crashing into everything. The sooner we sleep, the sooner we ride. Rain hammers the tents all night long.


Above: Arrival with the rain, our location, a doozy of a flying ant.


Above: Looking for a route and fixing a GPS (are two heads any better than one?)

Good Friday and we’re on the bikes. The GPS will record our journey for later trips, but we’ll rely on maps and Ajax and Bean’s Kiswahili to make our way (clockwise) around Kilimanjaro. It’s a quick lick to Moshi and up into the bananas, slipping and sliding all the way. The place is claustrophobic with foliage. Banana plants as tall as two story buildings tower above the mahogany brown muck of the road, leaning like ghouls in the misty, humid morning, slender and ominous like hungry supermodel zombies. The darkness and the slick roads have us on edge, and it’s only a couple of hours before we meet our first potential trip-ender. Bean and I, negotiating a steep incline, meet an old Isuzu 4x4 cresting the hill at far too quick a lick. It starts to skid and narrowly avoids Ajax, but Finnito isn’t so lucky. Despite a quick blast of throttle to get the bike off the roadside into the bush, Finnito catches the grill of the pickup (in a slow-motion full four-wheel slide by this time) with his hip (bruised) and exhaust pipe (nicely bent). Untangled, we carry on.


Above: The mud claims a 4x4, Ajax and Finnito starting out the day.


Above: Bananaland


Above: Umbwe entrance, 9.2 km, one of the many rivers to cross, Finnito

Dipping off the slope a bit, we glide into fast tracks through endless, sloping maize fields and into the welcomed sunshine for the first time. Still no dust clouds lift from our wheels. The rainy season’s been on here long enough keep down the dust and to lift the maize shoots above boot-high. Mt. Meru, Kilimanjaro’s smaller cousin, slowly emerges from her cloud blanket and towers before us in the sunshine, like the back of a great dark whale breaching a verdant, frothy sea. A short squirt on the tarmac, and we’re in a little farming town for Good Friday lunch (fish, of course).


Above: Mt Meru lords over the early maize, getting directions, cruising down.


Above: Tractor tautology says “God is God”, Obama’s salon (no birth certificate required fafuksake), Good Friday Fish lunch (your choices are fish or fish), Kilimanjaro Lager (unofficial beer of the trip), a new twist on naming the john.

From here, we turn our wheels again toward the dense bank of cloud that obscures Kilimanjaro’s snowy summit. Our map shows a web of farm roads crisscrossing this fertile Western flank. All we have to do is stitch a track together that keeps us on course. This is easier said than done, however, and in no time we’re lost in a wonderful playground of green maize, barley shoots and coffee bushes with Mt. Meru, all the while towering above us. Little by little, however, we make our way along and Meru begins to drift behind just as another raincloud forms and we climb higher and higher on Kili’s shoulder.


Above: In the farm road maze, riding through maize, grain (barley?) rolling on the hills


Above: Finnito and Mt. Meru, farm scenes


Above: Turning around again in the fields, African horizon


Above: Three stooges, Bean before Meru, furrows

In a steady rain, we take a rest in a roadside shack and consult the map over some Cokes. A few cops on motorcycles show up and offer friendly words and inadequate directions, AK-47s dangling on shoulder straps pointing haphazardly at our chests and heads all the while. In no time we find ourselves riding too far up the mountain, ears popping from the altitude change, soaked to the skin but happy for the ride despite the error. The cool air and wide views of rain falling on the valley below plus the vibrant roadside vegetable market in full swing make the detour worthwhile. Everywhere on the road we pass the ubiquitous little 125cc Chinese motorbikes overloaded with carrots and other vegetables puttering and spluttering through the mud to the market.


Above: Bean, Finnito and Ajax on a quick Coke stop and map check in the rain


Above: Self Portrait of the Author as an XR 400, Finnito negotiates the mud, a carrot transport bike on the move

Twisting farther along the route, on the Northern side of the mountain now, the black soil and rain-fed lushness is long gone. It’s a different world from the bananas and coffee, maize and barley we passed just hours before. Drier and barren, the mountain here stares at Kenya under the glare of the full afternoon sun. It’s rained recently and goats, sheep, cattle and donkeys meander along, nipping at the newly sprouted short grass while a woman draped in the blue and red cloth of the region makes the year’s first scratches in the newly moistened earth. Exhilarated by the dry surface and long afternoon shadows, we rip up the road like happy hell let loose.


Above: Bean and Ajax with lookers on, a woman takes the year’s first hits at the land


Above: Looking toward Kenya, Mika charges a climb, map check and kid mob

Then, quite abruptly, the dirt ends at a flawless ribbon of tarmac and Mount Kilimanjaro appears from behind her blanket of cloud like a magician’s assistant on a stage. The peak is snow covered and lovely and almost unbelievably big. It’s getting on to evening, so we’re ready to hit the tar and find accommodation. We don’t go looking for tar roads, but if I had to ride on one for the rest of my life, this would be it: With Kilimanjaro leaning down in the evening sun, the smell of pine trees from an old plantation in my nose, and twisty S curves coming one after another after another for miles, it’s as close to perfect as tar can get, and takes us straight to the Snow Cap Lodge where cold beers and a sunny lawn to awaits.


Above: Tarmac and Mount Kilimanjaro


Above: Promise of excellent tarmac, which would you prefer: Bike or bus?


Above: All of us at the Snow Cap, Map shows proximity to Kenya, Ajax poses pretty in the evening light

Excellent RR! Looking forward to the rest of it.

Nice report! I just woke up and I am having my coffee looking at pics of you guys in the mud.

Keep it coming - love the landscape shots.

I sleep well - despite bunking in an impromptu pink dorm room behind the bar with a couple of infamous snorers - and am eager to get rolling. Saturday morning is sunny and cool. Starting up the bikes, steam from superheated dew rises from the engines and we peel off through the wedge of pines toward the tar ribbon in search of a little track up in the hills. Bean takes off early to help with baptism party prep, so it’s down to three of us to complete the circuit. It’s not easy going. Where it isn’t muddy, there’s wet grass, and where there isn’t wet grass, there’s moist red clay with neon green moss growing on it. It’s the latter that proves particularly treacherous, and I each see my ass at one point on a slow ascent.


Above: Kili peeking through the pines, early morning dew on the Snow Cap’s vegetation


Above: Our dorm, Bean looking his best, the bar’s creepy idol, the bikes waiting to go


Above: Church along the way, bananas, and a slip in the mud

We make many wrong turns in our search for a lateral route around the mountain. The map proves to be hopelessly inaccurate despite its detail, and the majority of small tracks passing bananas and maize, wooden houses and faded shops tend to go up the slope rather than along it, parallel with the many deep and impassible gullies etched out by the snowy runoff from above. We ascend one slippery red clay track after another into the clouds only to reach trail’s end and be forced to slide back down again. Progress is slow, but in spite of it all, I love it. There’s so much going on along the trail with gardens and bananas everywhere, people in bright clothes carrying produce, and the cool air is such a welcomed relief from Dar es Salaam’s heat.


Above: Map check, onlookers, riding up another dead-end trail

We hit the curvy ribbon of tar again just before mid-day and follow it until we reach an adequate lunch spot. It’s surprising how much of the tires we’re using on those S curves and switchbacks… especially since the tires are knobby and soft. Perhaps it is appropriate that there is a coffin maker just across the street from where we are eating. Ignoring that, we press on up the muddy flanks of Kili, now hoping to link a small track together that will deposit us right at Bibi ABC’s front door. Instead, it’s another hour or so of hunting and pecking for a track, slipping and sliding up one dead-end, but beautiful trail after another.


Above: A shrine to who knows what, the coffin makers, tarmac tire use marks, back into the slick


Above: Finnito climbs, Ajax checks GPS, Finnito picks up dropped bike


Above: Descent through the neighborhood, ascent to the cows


Above: Down another dead end trail, Finnito rides sideways, the XR 400 attracts some onlookers

Finally, we find a guy who gets it. He doesn’t try to direct us straight back to the tarmac, and he doesn’t say the trail doesn’t exist. Instead, he describes a trail that crosses some ravines and climbs up high on the hill before reaching a main road that can take us where we want to go. And it’s excellent. We ascend right up to the edge of Kilimanjaro National Park where the roads are totally overgrown with new grass, traverse awhile in an area with wonderful views of the valley below, and eventually hit a road leading to one of the major ascent points for trekkers heading to Uhuru Peak. We have a coke at a quirky place, fend off an annoying drunk (I sell you petrol! You want to see the waterfall? You climb the mountain?), and depart in a downpour for the last push back to Sango and dry clothes.


Above: Typical wooden shack, good directions, the high lawns track


Above: Trips to Loliondo to see Babu on offer at the roadside Coke stop… God save us

Aaah, but not so fast. As you may have gathered by now, we often struggle to find the best track because we dive into Africa armed only with a map, common sense, and Kiswahili… none of which are worth a crap most of the time. So it’s little surprise when, after our Coke stop, we again find ourselves slipping and sliding through muddy trails that seem promising, but in fact are a total nightmare. Ajax and Finnito are at the bottom of a very steep hill, arguing with an old lady about whether or not the trail will reach Sango when the rain starts dumping down like day one of the flood. Finnito starts his bike and scrambles for high ground and I follow shouting “may the devil take the hindmost”, squishing and sloshing to the top of the hill. Ajax doesn’t make it. I wait a bit and finally dismount and ski all the way down the track to see if he’s okay, only to find that he’s lost momentum and can’t get it going again (a common problem for men his age I hear, and nothing to be ashamed of). I should have stayed where I was. The mud is frictionless. Pulling that bike is impossible, and pushing it is even worse. The rear slides back and forth, mud flies everywhere (mostly on me and the few boys that were fruitlessly pushing as well) and only Ajax seems to not break a sweat. At last, his tires find purchase and he lumbers up the hill, leaving me in the muck to leg it. The boys that were helping keep asking, “Where are you going? Sango? But why not on the good road?” Damn good question kids.


Above: Ascending again, the XR 400, a busy market and two lost wazungu


Above: The rain and the woman who said “What, this trail? Oh, hells no.”

After the deep trench debacle, we agree to turn back to a bigger road and get home. But no sooner do we get comfortable with the pasty mud on the bigger roads then Ajax stops. “Sango is only 2 km that way”, and he points right, down another muddy little track. Suffice it to say, the track doesn’t lead us home, and isn’t exactly a piece of cake. I don’t even take photos of it out of sheer exhaustion and eagerness for dry clothes and a beer. So after reaching the muddy main road again – the promising little track was actually a loop – we finally bee-lined it home.


Above: Last of the day’s mud and a daisy for your troubles


Above: Sango at last, and a few drinks later

Tomorrow (if we can wake up), we baptize baby C, sample local banana brew, and eat an African feast fit for a king. Monday, we head for the Masai Steppe and the Usambara Mountains.

Disclaimer: This post contains absolutely no motorbiking. We’ll be back on two wheels after the party.

Baby C’s Morning Baptism kicks off at the Sango Lutheran Church at 10:00, or rather the marathon Easter Mass does. There’s singing and prayer, a wedding, a mass baptism (about 20 babies), more prayer and singing, church business (the community is raising money to dramatically expand the dilapidated church), and a little more prayer and singing before the congregation lets out around 1:00 PM. I for one couldn’t last another second on that hard wooden pew after two days bumping around Kilimanjaro on my XR.


Above: Baby C’s baptism and the packed Sango Lutheran Church

We walk back from church eager to get the party started. Within minutes, Baby C’s mama enters the compound accompanied by a troupe of traditional Chagga singers making a hell of a racket. It’s starting to feel festive enough, and in no time we’re being served Mbege, a century’s old traditional beer made from finger millet and bananas served in a gourd with a handle. The stuff’s foamy, lumpy, thin-porridge-like texture leaves something to be desired, but it seems right to sample it before diving into the bottled beers chilling in the fridge.


Above: Chagga traditional performers kick off the baptism party

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Above: Mbege stirred and served, the froth, Ajax gives his opinion

Since church got out late, my stomach’s rumbling and I start scoping out the food situation. In the back of the house, a small platoon of women are busily stirring pots as big as laundry baskets full of meat, rice, and bananas with wooden spoons like canoe oars. They’re chopping vegetables and extracting the pulp from dozens of coconuts to be mixed with the rice and put in the soup. I steal a carrot or two to stave off my hunger since lunch won’t be until 4:00, and by the time I get back to the guys, the tops have been popped on the bottled beers.


Above: Extracting coconut pulp, the cooking crew doing their thing

We spend the afternoon watching the scene and plotting tomorrow’s ride. Speeches are made, the food is devoured, Mbege is consumed by the liter (200 in all), and people dance in the mud well into the evening. At some point, God says “enough already” and opens the heavens. The downpour brings the music to a halt (thankfully, since our tents are only feet away) and slowly the crowd fades into the night, leaving just the blurry eyed wazungu and their muddy motorbikes behind. Tomorrow, more biking.


Above: Ajax’s shoes need shining, the wazungu crew with beverage of choice, Finnito channels his inner clown (thanks in large part to aforementioned beverage of choice)

Good report, looks like an awsome place to explore.

Great report and great photography, loving the combined images. Great idea.

Hey guys, cheers for the comments. BTW if you like the photos etc, have a look at my other RRs (in signature). Now, on with the ride.

Monday morning over coffee we make a rough plan for the trip back home. The route for today will take us off Kili&#8217;s hip and down onto the dusty Masai Steppe, racing along the riverbottom country through thorn bushes and dried lakebeds before turning our wheels toward Lushoto in the heart of the Usambara Mountains.

An hour&#8217;s ride from Moshi, we leave the mud and rain behind and are chewing up the dusty Masai Steppe. Kili fades behind us, still shrouded in cloud, and the vegetation turns to thorny acacia scrub. We ride fast, following the powerlines around Nyumba ya Mungu (Home of God) Reservoir. The excellent grip of the sand and stones is such a welcomed relief from the uncertain and muddy mountainside that we find ourselves twisting the throttles to their limits as we crash through the brush and villages like a thunderclap, scattering sheep and goats in our wake. It is going to be an excellent day.


Above: Ajax pauses near a village, the new footing through the bush and the flatness


Above: Nyumba ya Mungu&#8217;s broad belt: good grazing for sheep, good riding for bikers

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Above: Helmet cam following KTM and CRF through the bush and villages


Above: Following the powerlines, fun section of twisty dirt through the bush

At the bottom of the reservoir, we cross the dam and follow a cattle path into the bush, hoping to parallel the river while sticking to the small tracks. Well, if it&#8217;s small we&#8217;re looking for, we find it. In no time, the trail evaporates in a tangle of grass and thorntrees and we hunt and peck for a route that will lead us out of this goat track maze from hell. It&#8217;s exhausting, frustrating and hot. The brush is so thick at points we have to dismount and force the bikes through the bush, bullying our way through, glad to be wearing our helmets and chest protectors. At last, when the heat and the annoyance had about reached their max, we pop out onto a good dirt road and blast downhill toward the river.


Above: Getting lost in the Masai Steppe&#8230; Moral: never trust a goat path


Above: Squeezing under a very odd looking Acacia tree, Finnito in the wild


Above: Hunting and pecking for a path across a ravine


Above: Taking the bush with us, a view down the path, the dirt road to salvation

At a dusthole dump of a village, we veer off the main dirt road and begin a wicked stretch of dusty trail. It&#8217;s essentially miles and miles of dry lake bed with a double track scratched through it and a few tufts of vegetation tossed in to give the cattle and goats something to nibble on. For us, it was another full blast of the throttle toward the distant hills. But I can&#8217;t stay on that double track with so much room to play. I find myself swerving in a wide arc off the path until Ajax and Finnito begin to disappear from view, then cutting back toward them like a fighter jet attacking a pair of enemy planes. It&#8217;s excellent riding, simply spectacular, but the flatness of it affects my sense of distance. The only way to judge progress is by the slowly growing mountains before us and the dust cloud we leave behind.


Above: The dustbowl, a desert casualty, Masai onlooker


Above: El bueno, el malo y el feo (in no particular order)


Above: The consequence of following Ajax too closely is a facefull of mud with just the faintest hint of cattle poo, Ajax rounds a dusty bend, a funky dark violet flowering cactus in bloom

All too soon we reach another crossroads and have to make a decision. Option A) Continue through the dust and sleep in a dump somewhere down the way, or B) Aim for the tarmac, get fuel, and try to climb the face of the Usambara Mountains on the way to decent digs and cold beers in Lushoto. We&#8217;ll take Option B please. Although the dirt road is tiring and the tarmac is loathsome so late in the day, the views of the Usambaras bathed in the late afternoon light and the prospect of scaling the face of them on an abandoned, switchbacked access road immediately raises everybody&#8217;s sprits. When Ajax stops at a semi-abandoned sisal plantation road and says, &#8220;This is it&#8221;, I practically dance a jig. The face of the mountain betrays only the slightest indication of the route, and it takes us a few attempts to find it, but when we do it&#8217;s mind-blowing. It&#8217;s been years since anyone dragged a grader over that surface and boulders and washouts litter the path. The drop off is enough to make you pucker, but the view of the valley below is spectacular.


Above: Heading toward the mountains and the cool rains, my muddy helmet, a Masai cattle traffic jam


Above: The Usambara Mountains and the sisal plantation approach


Above: Half way up the slope

As dusk falls I put the camera away. If we want to arrive before dark, we need to keep moving. At the top of the climb, we follow a sinuous dirt road through villages and fields before popping out at the tarmac and cruising up to The Lawns Hotel. With a good 300 km of dirt behind us, never has an Ndovu tasted so good.


Above: A quick snap past the eucalyptus before our date with Ndovu at The Lawns

Wonderful fotos and nicely written report!
Thanks.

Lucky you .... I like the BS face masks... any health benefits?

Hey Danny, a BS mud mask is great for the complexion. Give it a try! Back to the ride...

A misty morning greets us. We slowly crawl out of bed in search of coffee (check) and motor oil (check, thanks to the quirky Lawns Hotel owner, Tony) before proceeding out of town on yet another lovely, twisty tar road. The bends are perfect for a warm up, and prepare us well for the dirt-road equivalent we embark upon for the rest of the morning. This area of the Usambara range is fairly well populated, and boasts farm after farm on the rolling hilsides, creating lovely views from the curvy road.


Above: Tony’s Eccentric Defender (or rather Eccentric Tony's Defender...), Karibu Lawns, Finnito sees the light


Above: The Usambara mountains stayed dry for our morning ride


Above: Views from the Usambara Range

We climb up and up, through the banana and maize belt and some magnificent old stands of native forest. Towards the top of the climb, we enter the tea estates, and finally cresting the pass, begin a long, rough descent to the hot valley below. We ride the whole of the Usambaras in one long blast, trying to make time so that Ajax can be back to Dar before dark and Finnito and I can be on the beach before Happy Hour.


Above: Tea plantations and deep forest in the Usambaras


Above: Hilltop village in the Usambaras


Above: Finnito and Ajax split through the tea plantations


Above: The descent

Off the mountains, we send Ajax down the road after a truck-stop buffet lunch and Finnito and I turn back off road for a quick loop along the old Tanga road before crossing over and streaking down to Pangani on the Indian Ocean. The ride is beautiful if not challenging, and we slip right between two thunderstorms menacing the horizon. At the Pangani River ferry, it lookes like we're going to ride right into a downpour, but luckily the track stays dry right up through the sisal plantations and back down to the Beach. A few beers, a swim in the sea, food, and sleep. Day done and dusted.


Above: Finnito and a toy truck traffic jam


Above: Approach to the Indian Ocean, the Pangani River Ferry


Above: Sisal plantation near Pangani, signs to the lodges, sisal fibers sun-drying

It's just a day's ride to dar from here and we know the track... or do we?

Trip well narrated.... TG there is a lunch hour so I wont get caught using company resources reading all the yarn....

Waking up at the Beach Crab South of Pangani, is a bit of déjà vu. It was only a few months ago that Finnito and I rode this same stretch to and from Dar es Salaam. Consequently, we don’t stop to smell the roses much even though the place is beautiful. (Another ride report link here documents the area much better.) The first part of the ride is painful. It’s a hard, fast dirt road with large stones embedded in it that lasts several kilometers too long. We’re sick of it by the time we veer off to head into Saadani National Park where the road is sandy and smoother. Through the North Gate, we ride to Saadani Town and unsuccessfully negotiate for a waived park entry fee since we’re just passing through. No dice. We pay and blast South toward the village of Matipwili where we want to cross the Wami River, happy that the sand has been moistened by the rain but not so much as to be muddy, and enjoying riding through the wilderness.

We don’t see many animals apart from one crazy encounter with a troop of Baboons. I come upon a big group of them on the road in a high state of agitation. As I approach, I see that they have wounded an Impala fawn that lies bleeding in the road. I stop nearby and watch as the largest of the Baboons rushes up, seizes the fawn and vanishes into the bush accompanied by the rest. A tasty little snack I suppose.


Above: One of these palms is not like the other, a Saadani Baobab, Finnito enjoying the smooth track

The track continues through the park only slightly worse for wear since the rains. The stream crossings are low, there aren’t any washouts and there are almost no puddles on the road. Then, only 10km from Matipwili, we’re in for a surprise. The road vanishes into the glassy waters of what looks like a broad, reedy lake. The Wami River has flooded its banks, inundating the land and covering road for untold kilometers. At first, I consider going for it, but when I see guys fording the flood in chest deep water holding their bicycles over their heads, I’m persuaded to turn back.


Above: An innocuous enough stream crossing and the impassable flood (Finnito registers his disbelief... or is he just removing his goggles?)

The backtrack doesn’t take long. We return to Saadani Village then turn to the West Gate of the Park. Half way to the gate, a tractor trailer has somehow jackknifed on a mild slope in the middle of a bone-dry road blocking all other transport from passing. We sneak past the SNAFU through the bush muttering, “Only in Africa” and continue on. At the West Gate, the staff pose for pictures with us after checking our receipt and direct us toward the back way to Matipwili via the Zaraninge Forest. I notice a queue of trucks on the East-West road no doubt waiting for the other truck to be moved… they’re going to be short of goods in Saadani for a while.


Above: The West Gate keeper, his mobile phone among the bones, the truck that starves Saadani

From the Gate, we turn south on the Zaraninge Forest’s lovely and perpetually puddled path to Gongo village with its pineapple plantations and views of the valley before finally arriving in Matipwili, our destination before the detour (an earlier RR, link here, has many pics of the area). After several trips through this area, we know just where to get petrol (the price of which has risen to about seven dollars per gallon!) and a Coke before heading out again across the railroad bridge toward Bagamoyo. What we don’t count on is the extent to which the river has flooded. Water covers the fields and forests one or two kilometers on either side of the river. As a consequence we are obliged to stay on the rough stones of the railroad much longer than usual. I ride down the center of the track, confident that the train wouldn’t come since we’d seen a hand-cart on the tracks not far from Matipwili… I guess that’s safe logic.


Above: Finnito enters the Zaraninge Forest, fuels up in Matipwili, corners up to the train crossing


Above: The Wami in flood, me on a funky old push cart going the wrong way


Above: The easiest line, a woman hot-foots it away from me after I scare the bajeezus out of her somehow while dismounting from the tracks

When we do finally turn off the railroad onto the dirt, it’s surprisingly tricky going. In the dry season, this area is great fun with twists and turns among the thorn trees in the sand. However, the area is also full of low-lying swampy parts that turn to mud pits this time of year. We find a track that has been used relatively recently by a 4x4 and squirm and squish our way along through the bush. I am shocked by how many elephant tracks we find so near to Bagamoyo. When we finally reach the firmer footing of the dirt road, there are four different colors of mud spackled to the bikes and gear, though one layer might actually be a light sprinkling of elephant dung.


Above: Finnito in the swampy stuff


Above: Weed seed and elephant tracks


Above: Cattle and a herder at the beginning of the end road

As far as I’m concerned, hitting the Bagamoyo/Msata road is the end of the trip. I’m tired and only interested in getting back home, washing the bikes, and having a celebratory beer. So, Finnito and I do just that. We screw on the throttles, make for the tarmac, and disappear back into the Dar es Salaam traffic. We ride straight to a car wash with convenient proximity to a bar, drop the bikes and toast to another fantastic Tanzanian adventure ride.


Above: Our Overnight Spots: 1 = Sango Village near Moshi, 2 = Snow Cap Lodge, 3 = The Lawns in Lushoto 4 = The Beach Crab south of Pangani, 5 = Home, where the bikes stand clean and dry and thirsty for fresh oil.

Cheers to everybody for following along. Now go ride!

Love it, nice work!

great photographs

Love your ride and your use of the Golden Ratio!

That was a delightful read. Thank you for sharing and a big congrats on the great photos. Well done.

Dude, I am still not closing my mouth from gaping... Nice reading ... pray I wont be disabled again when the next plot for a weekender comes along...